My Place

 

There is a place where two ends meet,

In between the dead branches,

And the hurried leaves,

Across the rigid sky,

In the ever changing clouds,

Far away from broken nests,

And rain soaked flowers,

That melt under the muddy ground.

There lies a gate to a secret garden,

That no one wants to open.

Only crickets and birds belong there.

I think most people can't see it,

Or they choose to dismiss it out.

I sit there sometimes waiting 

For seasons to change, in tired shoes

And sweat on my brow.

There is a place where beginnings meet.

What begins must end,

What ends must begin.

I wait in between.

I stick around.